Ya, this is based off of a few practices of mine at school where our first chair trombone is absent, and I (the second chair trombone) have to fill in his place. Thank the Marching Muffins that I've never had to fill in at a competition!
Secondhand SoloThe band was assembled, ready to load on the busses and head off to the marching band competition. Everyone was there, chatting happily and getting ready for the competition, when the third chair mellophone spoke up.
"Hey! Where's the first chair trombone?"
This sent up a murmur around the band. Where was he? The first chair trombone was never absent. Was he sick? Why didn't he call his friends? Or was he just late?
But he wouldn't come, and that added to the dread of the second-chair trombone. The only girl in her section, she had a bit of an inferiority complex and had nerves like a bird. She had no self-confidence, and never thought herself to be good at anything. You could tell of her low opinion of herself by how she played: cautiously, almost afraid to make a mistake.
So she had the solo.
She knew it well enough, but she lacked the ability that First chair had to make it sound gorgeous. Like his air vibrato—she had no clue as to how to play with one. It was an add-on, sure… but it sounded fantastic with that air vibrato.
First chair trumpet sneered at second trombone. "Hey, think you're up for it? Try playing for once- it'll do you good."
First trumpet was arrogant. He showed respect for the first chair in most of the other sections, but he was incredibly nasty to everyone else. Especially to second chair trombone. And she never knew why he had been mean to her. But it did little to encourage her. She had the solo, and already she was getting into a nervous state.
The bus ride over was nothing short of agony for second trombone. Although her friends, fourth chair clarinet and almost everyone else in the trombone section were trying to calm her, second trombone was still unable to calm down.
They arrived and unloaded. The solo wasn't until the third song, so second trombone had plenty of time to regain her composure or totally freak out- it all depended on her mood.
First trumpet did little to help. During warm-ups, he kept shooting snide comments at her, loud enough so that only she could hear. After warm-ups, she was on the verge of tears. Why was he so MEAN? But she couldn't ponder that now. They were getting ready to march onto the field.
Left. Left. Left…The bass drum counted taps as the band walked onto the field. Second trombone closed her eyes momentarily, searching for calmness. She needed to focus, prepare herself. She had a show to do. And she wasn't going to let anything distract her from her show.
The first two songs went without any trouble. But once the instruments went down at the conclusion of the second song, second trombone's nerves went off. It was time.
She and first trumpet went to the center of the field. It was called a solo, but it was in truth a duet of the trombone and the trumpet. Assuming the spot where first trombone stood, she flanked up at first trumpet nervously, who gave a nasty smirk at her. She could read the expression plainly. 'Let's see you try to play, girlie. I'll prove that you deserve to be last chair.'
They watched the drum major give the signal to raise the instruments. The instruments came up slowly, befitting the lyrical nature of the song. One. Two. One two three four.
Slowly, the band moved around them, softly playing whole notes as accompaniment. First trumpet stood where he was, a confident smirk on his face. He would do it right, everyone knew. But second trombone felt like she wanted to cry and vomit at the same time. She could see the gap where she usually marched, and the yawning space between third chair trombone and fifth chair mellophone beckoned to her. She wanted to be in her spot; wanted to march and hide with the rest of the band. But first trombone was absent, and she had to take his place.
There were only four measures of rest before the solo, but it dragged on for so painfully long. But the drum major raised his hands in the counts, and she knew she had to play. Taking a breath, she and first trumpet began to play.
The enmity between the two playing the duet vanished. Only the music mattered. Closing her eyes, she let her arm flow into the position for the next note. She moved as if in a dream, and the soft melodic notes of the trombone poured out, matching with the trumpet to provide a balance of music. In a few moments, it would be over. She would march back to her spot and play the fourth song with her band and then march off the field as one of the indistinguishable kids in uniform. But at the moment, SHE was in the spotlight. All attention was focused on just her and first trumpet.
Nothing mattered. Not winning first place, not the snide comments from first trumpet, not even the rest of the band. Gone was second trombone's fear of messing up, her insecurity of her playing, her dread of what was coming. It all seemed insignificant to those few moments on the center of the field, with the solo and first trumpet. If first trumpet had a nasty comment for afterwards, so be it. It didn't matter, now that she was lost in the depths of the song. She wasn't here to impress him, or the director, or the judges.
And all she did was let the music flow.